


It’s Raining but You Can Hear Your Next Door Neighbor Schlatt Screaming About Minecraft

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Based offthistweet.





	It’s Raining but You Can Hear Your Next Door Neighbor Schlatt Screaming About Minecraft

**Author's Note:**

> y/n is about to RIOT

You don’t know what the deal is, but you haven’t been able to catch a good night’s sleep in weeks ever since he moved in.

You don’t know his name, and that’s one of the worst things about him. You’ve never met him. You can’t put a face, an identity, to the individual that’s been foreshadowing your days and terrifying your nights. Blame can’t be placed on someone that doesn’t subjectively exist. You don’t know who he is, but you kind of don’t want to find out.

For the past three weeks, that guy’s just been screaming. He’s had the sense to put soundproofing panels in, but you’ve been developing serious eyebags. 

The first night, you thought someone was being murdered.

Three weeks later, you dread the verbal knife of a floor up.

Is he a masochist? A pornstar, a protagonist of some virulent end? You have a 9-5 job. You wake up at 6am. Why does he feel the need to do this, muffling what sounds like a mic in the most torturing way possible? Is he being blackmailed?

Anyway, you have to find out what his deal is. At approximately 2:45am, your wits in tow, you trudge up the stairs in your shirt and shorts, and angrily knock your fist on the door.

A boy quite unlike the voice you’ve been hearing sob for mercy over an AP exam opens the door.

He’s tall, with broad shoulders, has one brown eye and one green eye. He sounds way too quiet for the shit he’s been shouting at the walls. “Hey. Can I help you?” Behind him, playback of his mic and what you now recognize as Minecraft’s Stal is blasting behind him. He realizes, and takes on the most apologetic expression he can muster. (It’s genuine, though.) “Oh, shit, am I botherin’ you?”

Your expression doesn’t change. Quietly, you explain to him that you’ve been able to overhear his shenanigans for the past weeks, and that it’s been disrupting the residents’ sleeping patterns. (The residents proverbially being you, but you lie by omission. You just want to have some sense of normalcy during the nights.)

You can tell he genuinely feels bad. His lips, set in an aloof line, quirk downwards as he slowly nods. “No, I understand. I’m sorry, should have shared m’occupation with — ”

Again, you gesture towards the setup. Some picture of an albino goat is flashing on the screen, accompanied by discs dragged in a scattered disposition around the persona. Some British accent is bleeding out of the speaker, talking about soundtracks. You ask for the context, placing one foot inside his apartment. 

You look up at him. 

You hope it’s intimidating the asshole that’s been causing you to show up at work late regularly.

He sighs. “I’ll tell y’what’s goin’ on, but only if y’don’t tell anyone. Got it?”

Briefly, you wonder if he’s the twenty first century’s Jim Jones, before lazily nodding.

“I’m Schlatt. D’ya want t’come in or not?”

You nod again, and he taps on your shoulder and points behind him. Schlatt clearly isn’t used to healthy interactions on a regular basis as you let yourself take in the dissimilarities of his apartment; or, rather, its almost unnerving lack of symmetry. At your feet, timbs among other shoes lay disorganized next to a rack to crucify jackets and umbrellas, but looking up the living quarters is the tidiest you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He’s particular, like a perfectionist or a serial killer.

While you stand there, with your arms folded, he goes over to his computer  — leans into the mic, Schlatt apologizes for technical difficulties “but I’ll stream extra long tomorrow. I ain’t someone who doesn’t keep their fuckin’ promises, get it? Don’t forget that I’ve got a Skyblock collab with Wilbur on th’way, so watch out for that in your subscription box-” he grumbles under his breath. “If YouTube can be fuckin’ bothered to show it.”

He clicks a purple button, smashes the keyboard. (It’s oddly mesmerising, how neon it is.) 

The screen goes black, and he’s left with only you and the mood lighting of your apartment. 

This is the moment in the romantic comedy where you both make eye contact and you avert your eyes realizing you’re in love with this chaotic dumbass, but Schlatt averts his eyes realizing he’s going to get kicked out of this apartment if he doesn’t talk himself out of eviction right the fuck now.

He leads you to his living room. You notice there’s scuff marks on the white couch as you both sit down. “Again, I’m so sorry that I woke y’up.” Schlatt smells like wood and cash, makes you sick to your stomach as you try to analyse what his pathology is from his remorseful grimace. The gutsy personality that spoke into the microphone was starkly different from the slender creature that was visibly distressed that he’d disturbed someone else, hunching every so often and cringing into his skin that someone had to tell him to stop. “Long story short — ”

He gestures with his hands. You stare at his shoulders, and realize you’re half asleep.

“I’m a YouTuber.”

Oh. Oh,  _ God, _ he’s even more annoying than you would have previously guessed.

“Because my audience’s international, I tend to make content at worrying times to reach the demographic. Given, my sleep schedule’s sufferin’ for it,”

and he guiltily glances at you, and you feel somewhat better that he’s empathetic, but you shouldn’t have to ask for basic human decency,

“but so is yours, and I sincerely apologize. This is my job, I can’t just stop, but I’ll try and get more soundproofing in if I can afford it.”

He’s being nice. Like, Schlatt actually feels bad. Ugh. You were prepared to smash your neighbor’s face in, but now you just feel like kicking him in the shins, dude. 

Regardless, however, you don’t want to admit defeat, so you drowsily look away from him. Then your vision goes black.

“Wait, why are y’falling asleep on me?”

You realize, kind of distantly, that when you looked away you were actually collapsing into his shoulder. He kind of shuffles you away, but you don’t have enough upper body strength to fully get up and Schlatt doesn’t have enough upper body strength to really complain about the human blanket. Haha, you win. Fucking shithead, this is what he gets for waking you up consistently without apology. Some drowsy shithead fainting at any moment.

The amber hue of the apartment’s lulling as he clicks his tongue deep in his throat, sighing  —  a weight on your back, somethin’ pulls you closer into body warmth. 

Jesus O. Christ, he’s snoring.


End file.
